


i’ll make those tears dry from your beautiful eyes

by raggirare



Series: Matsuhana Week - Side A [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, matsuhanaweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:30:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raggirare/pseuds/raggirare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>#MATSUHANAWEEK<br/>Day 4-A: At Midnight</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’ll make those tears dry from your beautiful eyes

**Author's Note:**

> _You’re too good for a guy like that_   
>  _You’re too beautiful to be crying every day_   
>  _You need to be loved, you have that right_   
>  _A guy who’ll treat you special, he’s here right now_
> 
> _You’re pretty enough_   
>  _You’re too beautiful to be getting hurt and crying because of that kind of guy_
> 
>                                        _You Deserve Better_  
>                                                            Verbal Jint (feat. Sanchez)

Matsukawa wished he wasn’t used to this.

He wished he wasn’t used to his phone buzzing beneath his pillow (or on his bedside table or on his chest or wherever else it had ended up while he waited for his Live Points to recover) with the arrival of a message from his best friend or the sharp _ping_ of a small stone against the window beside his bed before he even got a chance to open it. It was always around midnight, late enough for his parents to be asleep in bed, but it never stopped him from responding; from opening his window while his friend picked out a well practiced route up the side of the building.

Once the window was opened, the middle blocker settled himself closer to the edge of the bed and simply waited. It was always the same thing. Hanamaki would pull himself carefully into the window and close it behind him as quietly as possible, before tumbling onto the massage and rolling onto his side so he could curl himself into Matsukawa’s chest as close as possible. It was always done quickly, to hide the spiker’s face, even though they both knew that it didn’t matter. Matsukawa always knew what the hidden expression was like.

Swollen, red eyes. Damp trails down his cheeks. Snot doing its best to leak from his nostrils. Uneven, desperate breaths punctuated by choked sobs and muffled whimpers.

And Hanamaki would just cry. He’d bury his face into Matsukawa’s night shirt and cry out all of his emotions into the thin material. Sometimes, he’d talk about just what had gotten him so worked up, other times he’d keep quiet, but it was always along the same lines.

_A girl_.

A break up. Cheating. Communication problems. Insecurities (Hanamaki’s rather than whatever girlfriend he was with). A mix of them all. The details had stopped mattering after the first few times, if only because Matsukawa began to expect it. It stopped being a mystery and simply became a painful habit, forced to watch his best friend slowly break a little more every time (sometimes over a new girl, on a few occasions multiple events relating to the same girl with the same mistakes). His chest became numb to the painful knowledge that he would never get to be that person for Hanamaki and he stayed silent the entire time. Even when the sobbing ceased and the head lifted and there were lips on his, there was no noise. 

All he could do was let his body be used for some sort of comfort. Close his eyes and make the most of the fact for even just one night, he was Hanamaki’s everything.  It was painful to think about after the fact, and he always told himself that he needed to stop it from happening anymore, but he always found it impossible to say no in the moment. It was impossible to say no the way his best friend purred his first name against his ear and moved against him (moved _inside_ him) and lost himself into his body. It was impossible to say no to the way Hanamaki would curl into his chest at the end of everything, exhausted and spent, and sleep until the last minute possible.

Matsukawa never slept on those nights.

He simply lay in the darkness with his arms around Hanamaki, loosely playing with his hair, thinking up an excuse to explain away the limp he would have at practice the next day, and telling himself _this is the last time._

(It never was.)


End file.
